Where Angels Fear
by Wetherdorn
Summary: Dean is angry all the time, especially at Castiel, and Castiel wants him to be happy. Castiel wants forgiveness for what he's done, but he knows he's not going to get it, so instead he tries to make him happy, by giving him some of his bliss.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first part of a new story and I hope that some of you like it, review and let me know if you want me to continue because it's probably going to be a long, long story..._

It was another run down motel room, with peeling paint and dated wallpaper. But Dean hardly noticed where they ended up these days. It was one step up from an empty building or draughty warehouse. The beds were clean and soft, and there was hot water. He and his brother were tired from their last hunt, and the strain had begun to show. Dean hit the sheets and slept, as best as he ever could anyway.

The lake was calm and the line that hung from Dean's fishing rod hardly disturbed the water's surface. There were no birds singing and above where Dean sat at the end of the wooden Jetty, a cloudless blue sky held his gaze. He breathed in the fresh air.

'Hello, Dean,' a gruff voice beside him said. For some reason Dean didn't jump, as though he was used to the angel's appearances.

'Hello, Cas,' he replied wearily.

Castiel stood for a moment beside Dean in silence.

'Ok, what's up?' Dean asked.

'Something is troubling you.' Castiel said.

'What makes you say that?' Dean asked, pulling a beer from his fishing box and opening it.

'You always dream about this place when you are troubled.'

Dean took a swig of beer and sighed, realising that he was dreaming. He turned to say something, but then he noticed the blood on the angel's trenchcoat and shirt collar. His face was cut and bruised.

'What happened to you?' he asked with concern.

'Nothing of import,' Castiel replied, avoiding Dean's stare. 'I need to speak to you elsewhere, somewhere they won't be able to hear us.'

'Who won't?' Dean managed to ask, getting to his feet. But he didn't get chance to ask anything else because Castiel placed his hand firmly on Dean's shoulder and then they are somewhere else instead.

The lake had gone and they were standing in a field on the edge of a large forest.

'Where are we?' Dean asked as Castiel removed his hand.

'The dream of a thirty six year old cancer patient,' Castiel said, 'she's over there.' He pointed to a figure in the distance who was dressed in a blue hospital robe. Castiel began to walk over to her, and after a moment, Dean ran to keep up.

'Why are we here?'

Castiel didn't reply. 'Hello Janet,' he said to the cancer patient. 'You know I can't take your cancer away, but I can give you this.' The angel touched the woman's weary forehead and she fell back into his arms. Castiel laid her body gently on the lush grass.

Dean had been watching with concern, 'What did you do to her?'

'I gave her some of my bliss.' Castile replied.

When Dean looked up at him, he noticed that the Angel's face was more drawn and pained than before.

'Why are you doing this, Cas? Can't you just zap her cancer away?'

'No, Dean, that's not how it works.' Castiel replied with a note of bitterness in his deep voice.

'Can't or won't?' Dean shouted as Castiel began to walk away.

'I cannot.' He turned to face Dean, who had a look of pure hate on his face, 'This is what I do, I comfort the dying, make their passing more comfortable. I'm not allowed to do any more.' Castiel stepped back towards Dean, moved too close for comfort, 'Sometimes people die, Dean, I can't save them all. These people are prepared for it.'

Dean suddenly noticed that they had moved again, and were standing in a busy hospital ward, surrounded by patients and beds. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. Janet lay in the bed before them, her face thin and pale. Dean stared at her.

'Death will be a release for them, an end to their suffering.' Castiel stated.

Dean looked up at him and came to a conclusion. 'Cas, am I dying?'

Castiel frowned, 'Everybody dies, Dean.' But that wasn't the answer Dean wanted to hear.

'Do I have cancer?' Dean asked bitterly, 'Is that why you brought me here? Because if I have, I'm not going down easily, I'm not giving up.'

'No, Dean, you do not have cancer.' Castiel looked him up and down.

'So if it's not cancer, is it something else?' Dean demanded.

'You do not have a terminal disease, Dean.'

Dean held his chest and breathed deeply, 'That's good to know.'

But Castiel didn't leave it at that, 'Your body is new. When I remade you, I made you pristine, perfect,' he said, his blue eyes keen on Dean's body, almost as though he was proud of his work. 'You have no faults of scars that I didn't give you.'

Dean stared back at the angel as though he had been caught nude, 'And that in no way sounded creepy,' he said with a shake of his head. 'Dude, stop looking at me like that.'

Castiel cocked his head to one side and frowned, 'Like how?'

'Like you can see right inside me.' Dean said with a shiver.

'But I can, Dean,' Castiel said. 'How would you prefer me to look at you?'

Dean licked his lips in thought, 'Just keep it to the outside, will you?'

'As you wish,' Castiel said, looking away at last.

Dean signed in relief. 'So why did you bring me here?'

'I wanted you to know that if you need my help, I will give it, but I cannot do everything,' Castiel explained.

Dean nodded as though he understood, 'Ok.'

'I need you to keep fighting, never give in.' the angel moved closer to him, 'Never give up.'

Dean frowned, 'What do you mean, Cas?'

The angel smiled, 'Have you always been so angry?' he wondered.

Dean suddenly looked away, ashamed of his own emotions. Castiel could read him so well.

'I'm glad that you have the determination to keep fighting, Dean. I'm a soldier Dean, I know that emotions can cloud things.' He reached out and pulled Dean's face back to look at him, 'You have the stamina to fight injustice and to see things through, but you can't let anger rule you.'

'What are you suggesting?' Dean said through clenched teeth.

Cas watched him for a moment, almost as though his stare was digging into him. 'I can help you, I want to help you.' He let go of Dean's chin. 'But only if you ask me for it.'

Dean awoke gently to the sound of wings. He opened his eyes to find himself on the hotel bed, but he didn't turn to where he could feel Castiel standing. He waited for the angel to speak, but Castiel didn't. Instead he stood silently watching him. Eventually Dean drifted back into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep. The angel clicked his fingers and the lights went out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Before the next day was out, they had moved on. Another dated motel room off a nameless road in middle America. Sometimes Dean forgot where they were, and it was only because Sam kept score on the maps, that anything changed at all. The afternoon had passed with them on the road and now that night had fallen, Dean was restless in his sleep, turning over and over until he sat up and threw the sheets and blankets off. He was sweating, even though the room was cold.

'You called?' a deep voice asked in the dark room.

Dean fumbled to switch the bedside lamp on whilst grabbing the demon knife with his other hand. The lamp fell and smashed.

'There is no need,' the voice said and the room was filled with bright white light.

'Cas!' Dean said, his mouth dry. He shaded his eyes, 'Could you turn that down a little?'

The light diminished to a tolerable level and Dean lowered his hand.

'What's up? I didn't call you,' Dean said.

'No, but you were thinking about me very loudly,' Castiel replied. He moved closer to the bed.

Dean frowned in an attempt to remember what he had been dreaming about, but it had already faded.

'Sorry, Cas, I can't remember.' He said.

'But I can, Dean.' There was the sound of wings and the angel had gone, along with the light. When Dean turned to look at the smashed lamp, it was standing on the bedside cabinet, perfect again.

Sam stirred in his bed, 'Was that Castiel? What's going on, Dean?'

'I have no idea,' Dean replied.

Late the next morning and Sam was sitting at the only table in the motel room, his laptop in front of him.

'According to this, three people have died under unusual circumstances in the last week, within a five mile radius of the next town.' Sam explained.

'Let me guess,' Dean replied, a beer in his hand, 'There's some ancient folklore of a demon or demi-god or something that needs five victims before it will rise from his slumber and once he's here, it's Hell on Earth?' He said with a wry smile on his face.

'Actually, I've not found anything like that.'

Dean looked at his brother for a moment, the bottle still at his lips.

'So what are we talking about here, Sam? A witch or something else?'

'At this point, I've got nothing,' Sam said with a sigh.

'Ok,' Dean replied, putting the bottle down, 'What was weird about the deaths?'

'They all had their hearts cut out, none of which were found at the crime scenes.'

'Sounds like a Werewolf,' Dean said.

'It would have to be one with OCD,' Sam replied, because they weren't ripped out, but surgically removed with precision.'

Dean shrugged, 'Ok, so we've got a mad doctor or something who has a pet werewolf.' He smiled widely and finished his beer.

'Ok,' Sam said slowly. 'Well, the victims all had one connection, that they recently used the services of the local garage to have their cars fixed.'

'Sounds like a great place to start.' Dean replied.


End file.
